‘Wa Alaikum Salaam,’ I replied, turning to face him. ‘How are you?’ He looked tired and somehow older than when we first met. I wondered if I did too. I felt like I had aged a decade in the past ten months.
‘I’m OK, Alhamdulillah. Shall we go and get some food?’
‘Sure. Can we go to that ghetto Bengali place again? I couldn’t eat properly last time because of the stupid Whole 30 thing.’
Zakariya nodded and we walked side by side in silence – and not the comfortable type. There seemed to be some sort of frisson in the air and whenever my arm, covered by the thinnest fabric, brushed against his, he snatched it away as if it was contagious. I wondered when he was going to mention our awkward run-in and decided not to bring it up myself. While a part of me was dying to know what the deal was with that girl and if it was serious and if she was the real reason why he disappeared on me, the other part of me wasn’t ready to have the conversation. I would have to explain who Noah was to me and it all felt too complicated to go into.
‘So . . . how’s your week been?’ I asked when we entered the restaurant, the strong scent of curry engulfing us. My stomach growled immediately in response, loud enough for him to hear, and I tensed it, begging God to make it stop.
If Zakariya had noticed the rumbles emanating from my belly, he was too much of a gentleman to point it out. He pulled out a chair for me and, as I sat down, my belly groaned again, louder this time.
‘Hungry?’ he asked, a small smile playing on his lips. So much for being a gentleman, but I didn’t care because as he smiled, his entire face lit up and transformed. I wished he would do it more.
‘What gave you that impression?’ I rolled my eyes playfully. ‘I haven’t eaten properly in days. I’m marvin’.’
We collected our plates and began helping ourselves to the buffet curries. Unlike the last time, I piled my plate high with everything I fancied, not caring what Zakariya might think of me. If he thought I was a greedy pig, he didn’t say so. Not that he would call me a pig. It wasn’t a particularly Muslim-friendly insult.
‘This is so good,’ I mumbled, my mouth full of rice and mutton curry.
‘Why haven’t you been eating?’ he asked, not looking at me as he tackled his own plate, also piled high.
‘Oh, no reason,’ I replied breezily. ‘I’ve just been busy.’
My breeziness was clearly less of a breeze and more of a sticky, humid air, clinging to everything around it, because Zakariya looked right through the facade.
‘You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,’ he said gently. ‘But if you do, I’m a pretty good listener.’
So I told him. I told him about Malik and Lucy, about Sheila, about my parents, about growing up in the shadows, overlooked, my growth stunted and hidden under Malik’s shine. I told him how I felt like a useless, unaccomplished burden and how I had originally started therapy because it was on the list, but now it was changing me and my perspective and I didn’t know if that was a good thing. Now I had a voice; I had started speaking up for myself and people didn’t know how to react to it.
‘Do I sound completely ridiculous?’ I asked, brushing away a stray tear that had the nerve to show itself at the most inopportune moment.
‘You could never sound ridiculous to me,’ Zakariya said, so solemnly that I couldn’t help but laugh at his tone. ‘But if I may: choose who you keep around you carefully. It’s amazing how many people no longer find you useful when you’re harder to control.’
I stared at Zakariya in awe, my spoon frozen in front of my mouth, which was slightly open. ‘That’s so deep,’ I managed to say and he smiled his half-smile again, which was becoming cuter by the second.
‘I have my moments,’ he shrugged modestly and I had to stop myself from reaching across the table and squeezing his arm. He was seeing someone and so was I. It wasn’t right.
‘How are things with you?’ I asked as we tucked into our second serving of dinner.
‘Well,’ he began, his tone sombre, ‘I wanted to meet you tonight to explain about yesterday, in Ally Pally.’
‘Oh, there’s nothing to explain,’ I replied casually, when inside, I felt anything but. ‘You were on a date and so was I. There’s nothing to say.’
‘OK then,’ he replied, looking at me warily. ‘Was that the guy you mentioned you were going on a “kinda date” with?’
‘Yes,’ I replied uncomfortably.
‘Looks like things aren’t on the “kinda” vibe anymore. You looked pretty into him.’ He looked pained as he said this and my hackles rose. He was with a girl himself! And how could he discern how ‘into’ Noah I was after seeing us together for a split second?
‘I am,’ I retorted. ‘And you seemed pretty into your lady friend. Which is weird as you told me that you’re moving to Dubai. Unless you’ve changed your mind?’
‘I’m still going,’ he replied, a defensive edge creeping into his voice.
‘How’s that going to work?’ I said, my tone sharper than I had intended it to be.
Zakariya took a moment to respond and I watched his face. He looked uncomfortable. ‘I’m not going forever. If it’s meant to be, it will survive the distance.’
There was a pause as I digested this information. I suddenly felt sick and pushed my plate aside, the annoyance I had felt towards him dissipating.
‘When are you leaving?’ Though I tried to keep my tone light, I felt anything but. I felt heavy, like an anchor, stuck.
‘September.’ His voice was quiet for someone who was about to embark on an exciting new chapter, possibly with a love interest.
‘That’s soon. There’s what, two months to go? How do you feel?’
‘Nervous. A little sad.’ He looked at me then and though his stony expression was difficult to read, like it always was, there was something about the droop of his eyes and mouth that felt as though he really was sad.
‘Why are you sad? Family? Your lady friend?’
‘Partly. I’ll miss them for sure. But can you stop calling her my lady friend? This isn’t the nineteenth century.’
‘They’ll come out to visit you,’ I tried to reassure him, ignoring the latter part of his response. ‘You know what it’s like. Anyone who flies with Emirates will stop in Dubai in transit on the way to Bangladesh or wherever. You’ll see people all the time.’
Zakariya put down his spoon then and looked me straight in the eye.
‘What if I don’t get to see the people I want to see?’ he asked, his deep voice so low it was barely more than a growl.
Swallowing nervously, I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. ‘Who do you want to see?’ Was he implying what I thought he was, or was I completely misreading the situation?
